


Killing Me Softly

by xanzpet (gleefulmusings)



Series: Verses [5]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe, Between Seasons/Series, Drama, Gen, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-02
Updated: 2012-03-02
Packaged: 2017-11-01 00:36:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/350050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gleefulmusings/pseuds/xanzpet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Giles realizes Xander isn't really lost at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Killing Me Softly

_I heard he sang a good song,  
I heard he had a style.  
And so I came to see him,  
to listen for a while.  
And there he was, this young boy.  
A stranger to my eyes._

_Strumming my pain with his fingers._   
_Singing my life with his words._   
_Killing me softly with his song._   
_Killing me softly with his song._   
_Telling my whole life with his words._   
_Killing me softly with his song._

_I felt all flushed with fever,_   
_embarrassed by the crowd._   
_I felt he found my letters_   
_and read each one out loud._   
_I prayed that he would finish,_   
_but he just kept right on._

_He sang as if he knew me_   
_in all my dark despair,_   
_and then he looked right through me_   
_as if I wasn't there._   
_And he just kept on singing,_   
_singing clear and strong._

_Strumming my pain with his fingers_   
_Singing my life with his words_   
_Killing me softly with his song_   
_Killing me softly with his song_   
_Telling my whole life with his words_   
_Killing me softly with his song._

~ Roberta Flack, _Killing Me Softly_

 

_  
_

* * *

 

 

It has taken me longer to track down the boy than it should have, though why I should have been surprised is beyond me; when Xander wishes to hide, he is often impossible to find.

This perhaps should inspire a number of concerns within me, but I frankly do not wish to know the answers. I have often, for reasons unknown to me, or perhaps simply because I do not wish to ruminate upon them, reserved myself from his company, for I believe I could very well develop an untoward attachment to him.

He is pleasantly attractive, despite his protests to the contrary, but he believes his wholesomeness is an impediment to the dashing hero he so desperately desires to be, unknowing he would be this regardless of his beauty. He is not the idiot he proclaims himself to be, not understanding that intelligence is quite separate from learnedness. His humor can be grating, as can his numerous insecurities, but as he comes by them honestly, one learns to accept them as part and parcel of the rather impressive young man he is becoming.

He is not the smartest or the strongest, nor the bravest or the most beautiful, but neither is he lacking in any of these qualities. That he cannot see this for himself is endlessly frustrating, but I will not waste my time or his by correcting his misconceptions; the girls have tried and failed for years, and exercises in futility are regular occurrences in my life. I have no need to add more.

When he failed to maintain regular contact this summer, I put out feelers, knowing he eventually would involve himself in some otherworld nonsense, for it is his nature, and the most promising lead has brought me here, to a disreputable club where humans debase themselves on a dais for the amusement of demons.

I steel myself before entering and seat myself at the end of the bar. The lights come up and he is center stage, a guitar in hand, and confusion and disbelief cloud my mind. His mouth opens and he begins to sing, and I'm so entranced that I promptly spill my overpriced cocktail down my jumper.

His voice is rough, untrained, but there is an inherent purity so remarkable, it brings tears to my eyes. His gift, however, is not musicianship, but interpretation, and as he pours his heart out in his song, something deep is touched within mine. Every note is infused with a passion I never knew he possessed, and the loneliness behind them, the sheer agony of his pain, is exquisite and uncomfortably familiar.

As he lays himself bare, he flays me open.


End file.
